Work Text:
At night, the screams of desert owls drifted from leagues away over dunes and dusty scree, and the coyotes mournfully cried for each other, for good hunting. Sometimes a dream of a dream of the viridian and aqua scents of an oasis can be imagined to have found its way to civilization, on beams of starlight. But this was all long and away from the city and its pockets of laughing revelers and the wailing alley cats in heat.
Here, in the little loft above the little shop on a little street, the quiet hung heavy with the breath of sleepers and Asra’s soft movements. They’d put up the silk curtains before bed, but only the barest of a breeze pulled at his white curls. Yet a great deal of moonlight poured in, washing their little world in blue and brightness.
Perhaps that great pool of moonlight could fill the void of his absence.
Asra slipped off the end of the mattress, careful not to disturb them. They’d brought his mattress up some time ago and pushed it up against hers to make a bed just big enough for three. In the cooler seasons, anyway. During the real swelters of summer, Julian and Xan would complain of the sweaty closeness until they escaped up to the roof.
In some ways, Asra liked those months of spreading his limbs wide across the cool surface of blankets. But sometimes the empty spaces beside him dug into him in a way his lone pallet for traveling never did. Or much more infrequently, anyway.
Asra padded across the room and scooped up an item here and there. Coiled around his waist, Faust stirred and crawled up about his shoulders. He absently stroked her head with a finger, letting her curious tongue flick against his skin. On his perch and hooded, Pazu ignored him.
“Where are you going? It’s late.”
He looked up. Julian sat up on an elbow, gazing at him. His pale skin particularly caught the violet gleam of the moon, mingling with the hair on his bare chest. And the hair elsewhere. He abhorred wearing anything to bed, as did Xan many nights. Beyond Julian, her chest still rose and fell evenly, her face turned to the wall.
“You were supposed to go in the morning,” Julian added.
At that, his eyes darted and heat traveled over his face. Asra couldn’t do anything but smile. That wasn’t strictly true, though. He could put down the bag in his hand and climb back into bed. Let Julian wrap him up again in his arms, and pull Xan to himself.
But he just smiled and watched the flit of emotion over Julian’s features.
Jules sighed. He gestured to Asra, and Asra retraced his steps, kneeling by the edge of the mattress. Julian’s hand cupped his cheek. His thumb feathered gently across his cheekbone. Hesitating just a moment, Asra leaned into the warm palm. He did his best not to turn away, to flinch, from the look in Julian’s eye. That dark brow came down to shadow a feeling with a depth both beguiling Asra and stirring within him a jolt of fear.
An old and familiar jolt of fear. He’d improved, of course; he could say the things that needed to be said without wishing them undone, he could envision a future with the two recipients of those words. He could tell them ahead of time when he would be gone.
He’d improved, really.
Julian’s hand traveled around behind Asra’s neck. They met in a kiss. For once, Asra bent over Julian, but that dragging pull in the deepest part of his soul that should no longer catch him unawares but yet always did– that terribly, horribly, voluntary drowning in a trap of his own making seized him. Of their own making.
Julian’s mouth moved against his like a tide of sand at high-noon, like lava. The scent of those red curls brushing his eyelids comforted him, made his throat catch and heat rise behind his eyes. The coffee and the sweat and something unmistakably Jules. It was one half of the world Asra woke up to, fell asleep to.
What was he doing? Was he really going?
Julian sighed, pulling back. He rested his forehead against Asra’s. Their breath mingled, hot and acrid.
Julian brushed his nose against his. “We’ll be waiting.”
Asra blinked back the heat and tried to pull on his smile again. He glanced over at Xan. She was still asleep. Julian shifted and gave him space to crawl back over to her. She was darker than Julian– she was golden and bare and painted orchid with moonlight. That old guilt rose in his gut.
“Xan,” Asra whispered.
She didn’t stir, and he bent to brush a kiss against her jaw, on her throat. Xan grunted unhappily, mumbled a curse at him, and rolled over onto her stomach. She curled around his knees with her black hair sprawling.
Asra pushed the hair off her neck and face, because it would drive her crazy if left alone.
“Will you talk to her in the morning?” he asked Julian.
“I’m not your intermediary.”
He glanced up at him. Another familiar conversation, that. But Julian’s sleepy eye held no venom, nor did his words. Just reminding him.
Julian pulled him near to plant another kiss on his forehead.
“We’ll be waiting.”
Asra left. As Faust curled around his shoulders, and his feet fell softly on the cobbles, he knew that in a little loft above a little shop on a little street he left behind an empty space pooled with moonlight. He also knew that empty spot, and the two halves of his world that cradled it, would be waiting for his return.